


Two Bears, One Cave

by LadyHeliotrope, LunaP999



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Very Tiny Yurt, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Cold, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, F/M, Hearts & Cauldrons SSHG Server's Snolidays 2020, Mentor Severus Snape, Mongolia, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Relationship, Ratings: G, Severus Snape Lives, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHeliotrope/pseuds/LadyHeliotrope, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaP999/pseuds/LunaP999
Summary: Hermione is Snape's apprentice, and they have to go to Mongolia for some reason. Two magic people, one bed. Solve for X.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 77
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, Hearts and Cauldrons Gift Exchange





	Two Bears, One Cave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FawkesyLady (Tarma)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/gifts).



_Neg aguid khoyor baavgai sain duusakhgüi_ _  
_“Two bears in one cave will not end up well”

-Mongolian Proverb 

  
  


“No. You cannot be serious.” 

Hermione stamped her feet and snarled, though the effect was somewhat muted by her chattering teeth. 

Their guide, Monkhbat, smiled apologetically at the two British travelers, and shook his head. 

“I apologize for the miscommunication,” Monkhbat observed, gesturing with helplessness at the sky. “It’s a small _ger_. We list it for one visitor only, not two. It will be an extra charge.” 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, looking elegant and not at all uncomfortable in the cold. “It’s my fault,” he muttered, and turned away from their host. “Whatever is available, we can manage.” 

“Extra charge, okay?” Monkhbat was polite but persistent, and Severus nodded, clearly exhausted. 

“Right,” agreed Severus with a huff, and without further ado, he lifted the edge of the hanging door and practically pushed his apprentice inside. 

  
Monkhbat poked his round face in through the opening to add, “In the morning, we will prepare a traditional breakfast of bread and cream, which we call _öröm,_ for you.” In the meantime, Hermione stifled a giggle as she saw Severus bump his head into the unlit hanging lantern. 

“Yes, thank you,” Severus drawled, his tone suggestive of fatigue and the end of whatever patience he’d allotted for their host. If she was reading him right, he was in pain, too, and he needed a lie-down rather desperately. Damned nerve damage from Nagini’s venom still bothered him ten years after his attack; Hermione hated to remember how it was partly her fault he suffered so, but they’d hashed that out months ago at the start of her apprenticeship, and she tried to remember what he’d said about the matter. But the more urgent issue of her hands being terribly cold distracted her. 

Monkhbat disappeared then, apparently not interested to see his guests through the set-up of their space. 

This indifference suited Hermione just fine. Her mentor lit the lamp with nimble fingers, and Hermione blinked at the sight of the place. The interior of the yurt was approximately the size of a large closet. A single bed was there, covered with a few afghans that had doubtless seen better days. There was also a low table with cushions to sit upon, and an armoire that might hopefully contain additional warm things. While there was enough room to stand separately, there was not enough room to have significant distance away from each other. 

Being in close confinement with her potions master for an overnight trip? That didn’t smell like trouble at all… for her doubtlessly unrequited crush, or otherwise. 

Hermione made an attempt to turn on the tiny radiant heater on the floor, though her hand was shaking. The little thing began to hum, and she waved a hand over the apparatus. She couldn’t find where it was supposed to get warm; its tubes were icy cold to the touch. 

“We just _had_ to get that _fresh_ _tenegtsetseg_ in the middle of winter,” Hermione grumbled, stuffing her fingers back in her mittens. “In the fucking mountains of Mongolia, no less.” 

“I apologize,” he returned, and with a creaking step, he opened the armoire. It seemed he expected more useful resources too; he made a hum of dismay as he observed several items of traditional Mongolian garb and some dishes and a basin, but no blankets. 

Frankly, Hermione didn’t feel the blankets would have been much help at this point; she’d have to spend more body heat warming them up than was likely practical. 

“Serves me right for being a cheap bastard,” Severus grumbled, and uneasily he eyed the floor, surveying the space and obviously thinking about how to make it more comfortable. “I should have been more discerning.” 

“Don’t even think about it,” Hermione chided, reading his too-obvious martyrish look, and with indignation she practically pushed him into the bed. “You have a bad back.” 

He frowned, but didn’t argue, instead collapsing with a sigh and dropping his rucksack on the ground. She took this as a victory and a sign that he desperately needed the rest. The portkey travel made her sick, but the off-road journey from _Ulaanbaatar_ in Monkbhat’s creaky van probably did a disservice to his achy joints. 

“For the sake of ten pounds a night,” he continued to berate himself, “I should have been more careful and read the description better. This is what I get for being overconfident about my use of the internet.” 

“Well, didn’t you say the last time you traveled here was nearly fifteen years ago?” Hermione asked, bustling about trying to keep her body busy. The exhaustion proved a large obstacle, but she stacked the floor cushions from under the table, turned the table on its side to create some more space on the wooden floor, and then she laid out the pillows again to create the approximation of a bed. 

“Yes,” Severus answered, “and I stayed with an associate in the city for that. One with whom I have no intention of renewing my acquaintance,” he added in advance of her inevitable question. She understood the implication far too clearly: _Death Eater type_. 

It was surprising to her, how after being close with him for less than a year, she could read her former professor rather well. He didn’t have to wear that austere neutrality anymore, which probably helped a good deal in terms of being able to read him and his moods. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d had her whole life that they had some deep unvoiced kindredness, ever since she’d learned that Quirrell was trying to jinx Harry’s broom (and she’d mistakenly targeted Snape while he enacted the countercurse). 

Perhaps it was just vanity, to imagine she could tell what was on his mind better than most people. The man had taken on apprentices many times in his life, and she was likely just the rule, not the exception. It was nearly impossible to spend so much time with a man and not learn him fairly well. But she could not help but feel that maybe she saw something in him deeper than most could. 

Or perhaps at this stage of his life, with his pain being so acute, he simply didn’t care that much to hide things. Maybe she saw exactly the same that any other apprentice might see, at this given moment of time. But that little glimmer of hope that she saw something deeper than most people did? It sustained her and gave her life, and made her feel like this connection was worth cultivating in a deeper way than simple master and apprentice. 

At this point, Severus groaned and slowly unfurled himself across the bed. She sank down upon her own pallet, too, and prepared a warming charm. 

It was clear his physical pain was enormous; he rarely was quite so expressive. This observation was further reinforced when he asked, “Do you mind, Granger? My potion?” 

She didn’t need to be asked twice; she grasped his rucksack and drew it near her. “Outer pocket,” he breathed, sounding far-away. She followed his directive and uncorked it for him, then shoved it into his unsteady fingers. 

He drank in a few tense gulps, then gave back the empty bottle for her to return to his bag. She corked it and replaced it, then began to rummage in her own bag for an extra blanket. She found one, and it was somewhat warmer than her pillows, so at least that was useful. She draped it around her shoulders and hoped she’d stop shivering soon. 

“I was a young man, then,” Severus mused, sounding strangely sentimental. “I took for granted the ability to simply run across the globe for the sake of saving a galleon. My body isn’t able anymore. I ought to remember that.” 

“It’s hard, though,” Hermione answered, and since she didn’t see him make an effort to get under the bedclothes, she offered, “Do you need help with your boots?” 

He gave a hum of demurement, then seemed to rethink the inclination. “I don’t want it, but I think I do need it.” 

“You’re alright,” Hermione breathed, and she moved over to his feet. She unwound the tightly-laced dragon-hide carefully, wiping away with a painless cleaning spell any muck that had attached itself to the leather. They were extremely heavy, though this wasn’t a surprise to her, and she successfully removed them from his feet. Thankfully he seemed to have some good water-repellant charms on them, because his socks were quite dry. She couldn’t say the same for her own at the moment. 

She turned out the lamp, took off her own boots, and changed her stockings, but otherwise was too cold to remove her outerwear. Snape seemed to be of the same mood; soon enough he was snoring peacefully. She envied him his pain relief medication and the soporific effects it had. 

Indeed, while she tried to get comfortable and allow herself to doze off after him, her body refused to acclimate to the cold. Her feet were terribly cold, despite the clean stockings, and she felt like the chill had seeped into them permanently. She cradled herself with folded arms hugging close to her chest, tucking her hands under her shirt to snuggle beneath her breasts, but the residual impact of the frigid room made her feel that she was becoming closer and closer to an iced Hermione. 

Finally, she could bear it no longer, and she whispered, “Snape?” 

Despite his somewhat concerning degree of snoring, the man seemed to leap up from sleep. “Granger? What is it?” 

“I don’t think...the heater’s working.” Her teeth began to chatter of their own accord, and she strangely felt tears prickling behind her eyes. 

He sounded sincerely confused. “What would you have me do?” 

“I know it’s not…extremely orthodox...but…” 

She desperately wished this would be one of those times that he finished her sentence for her, but knew that this blessing would not be forthcoming when she actually needed it. _Oh gods, why couldn’t he ever make things easier for her?_

_“..._ could you budge over and make room for me?” 

The room fell silent as he contemplated this question. “Granger,” he said softly, sounding immensely irritated, “No matter how much I _give_ you, woman, you succeed at demanding even more from me.” 

The indictment was severe, even for him, and those tears were now slipping down her cheeks. She half expected them to freeze on the way down, but she couldn’t care about that. She was doing her utmost best to prevent him from hearing one single solitary sob in the darkness. The last thing she needed was further ridicule. 

She expected to hear him doze off again, momentarily, but she was startled to hear him ask, “Well? Aren’t you coming?” 

Hermione swallowed thickly, then gently got into bed next to Severus Snape. 

………… 

“I just wish we had one of those yak hides right now,” Hermione murmured, feeling incredibly grateful to be resting on the warm space in the bed that Snape had previously occupied. The flow of energy throughout her body was delicious, and strangely even though his head had touched the pillow for a matter of minutes, it smelled pleasantly of him. Coriander seed was the dominant scent, she decided, taking in the coziness of being beneath the blankets with another human. While Snape did not have the satisfying muscular bulk of Ronald, he did have a fiery heat that seemed to come off him in waves of energy. 

She was surprised to feel Snape’s arm gently tug her closer to him, firm and steady and reassuring. It was odd; she’d never taken him for a snuggly type. 

Of course, though, he had an incredibly logical reason. 

“Cover your head with the blanket,” he stated with his no-nonsense, low and commanding teaching voice. “Allow yourself as much contact with my body as feels comfortable to you. Just notice the heat we share between us, and allow it to help your body regulate.” 

His breathing pattern was more helpful than she’d counted on. She placed her head against his chest and wrapped her arms hesitantly around him, allowing his solidity to settle upon her; her arms crossed behind his back and she noted with some concern how narrow his body was. She felt him welcome her into his cloak, drawing it closely around her, and it was softer than she’d expected, more like cashmere than regular wool. She felt the deep, steadying pattern of his chest rising and falling. She heard his heartbeat, tolling like a slow church bell inside his thin torso. And she felt the heat he produced, certainly - but more surprisingly she also felt the heat of a more intimate nature begin to pool below her belly. 

“That’s right,” Snape breathed, and he commented, “notice that your teeth have stopped chattering, your muscles are relaxing as they begin to sense you are safe, and that you have a nearly limitless amount of warmth being generated right next to you.” 

She could not help but agree - with every word, her body obeyed, and she was reminded of the soothing voice from one of her mother’s meditation CDs. Though ironically, she realized that once she was warm enough, he would let go. 

And strangely, she was more than a little terrified of him letting go - because that would mean that this intimate moment was over. 

It was astonishing and stressful to realize that she _didn’t want him to._

As a result, she tried to distract him, babbling, “Your words are so comforting,” she murmured, trying her best to prolong the moment. “I’m just reminded of my half kneazle who passed away last year, Crookshanks.”

“You’ve mentioned him once or twice.” The eyeroll was imprinted on his voice.

She blathered on, “I just always felt so safe and loved with him on my bed. He would just curl up at my feet, against my ankle, and I would feel at ease.” 

He gave a sudden startling snort, apparently of laughter - but he didn’t let her go. 

“I don’t believe I’ve received that kind of compliment before,” he elaborated, and Hermione felt her face turn rouge. 

“I don’t mean… anything by it,” Hermione apologized, trying to downplay the potentially suggestive tone of her reminiscence. Her teeth still chattered, interfering with her communicative ability. Thankfully the distraction seemed to help turn her mentor’s mind off the implications he seemed to take. 

“Stop talking,” Snape instructed, and he seemed to pull her closer in a protective fashion. “Press your tongue against the top of your mouth.” 

She knew better than to argue with him when he used that kind of firmness, and she suited the action to the words. The trick did stop her teeth from chattering, and she took a deep inhale and exhale through her nose. 

“I appreciate your trusting me, Granger, and not arguing as you were once wont to do.” 

She almost took the bait, but she recognized it for what it was, and she gave a little smile. The man could never give a compliment outright, not without a bit of astringency attached. She’d read a book about the Hmong culture in California at one point in advance of pursuing her first mastership in healing, and one part of the book talked about how the Hmong people discussed in the book would always claim a baby to be ugly in order to ward off evil spirits who might want to steal away the baby. That description had resonated deeply in a healing way for her, and it had permitted her to release some of her resentment of Snape and his past abuses of power as a teacher. 

It wasn’t a strictly accurate explanation of what had happened during her formative years at Hogwarts, but the message recontextualized a lot, particularly in light of what Harry told her about Snape after the end of the war. 

As these series of memories floated to her mind, she smiled away a set of tears. She was grateful for the inner work she’d done during her healer’s training and her separation from Ron. Her long-aspired potions mastery would otherwise have been impossible to start, much less achieve. 

Once she was sure her shivers were over, she quipped, “I don’t believe _I’ve_ received _that_ kind of compliment from you before, Snape.”

“Don’t get used to it,” the man grumbled, and he patted her upper back with the same tenderness he might show to a baby. 

(Oh gods have mercy on her, was she daring to contemplate how Severus Snape might behave as a _father_? The cold clearly was driving her batty.) 

“You make a poor substitute for Crooks, though,” Hermione chuckled, trying to dismiss the thought out of her mind before England’s most accomplished Legilimens had a chance to pick up on her wayward musings. 

“Oh, really?” The airy tone of his voice was belied by the smirk she could hear on his lips. “What, pray, makes that old walking carpetbag superior to me?” 

She felt her heart flutter as she realized he was throwing the banter back to her. He was engaging, not withdrawing. A flash of desire to kiss the man pressed into her mind, and she batted it away swiftly. 

“Fur, for one thing.” 

He snorted. 

“Also, a bit of heft,” Hermione went on, with an embarrassed giggle. “That boy would eat me out of tuna and home, if I let him.” 

“You know, I never understood why the likes of Ronald Weasley would appeal to you,” Snape responded with a breezy, dismissive air. “I realize, now, he reminded you of your cat.” 

“Half-kneazle,” Hermione corrected, realizing almost too late that she was talking in an overtly coquettish fashion. 

Was she really so starved for attention that she would risk turning this... survival-oriented exercise in intimacy... awkward as hell? 

Maybe. Worst case scenario, she could quit her apprenticeship tomorrow and go back to her old job at St. Mungo’s. 

“They’re one and the same,” Snape reflected, and patted her back again, this time somewhat more firmly. “Are you sufficiently warm, Granger?” 

“I...oh. Yes. Sorry.” She felt embarrassed to have missed the silent signal of dismissal before. She disentangled herself from him, and was somewhat disappointed to see him turn over to face the wall of the _ger_. 

“No matter,” he said, and she heard him yawn. 

She made to get out of the bed, but was surprised to feel his hand grab her wrist as she propped herself up. 

“I’m somewhat cold,” Snape admitted, and she relaxed back down onto the bed. With a softer voice, she heard him utter, “There’s no sense in playing round and round the mulberry bush all night.” 

She hummed in agreement. “Again, I wish we had those yak hides.” 

He seemed to be drifting off to sleep, or so she thought until she heard him ask: “Granger, how would a bear compare to a half-kneazle?” 

“I mean,” Hermione mused, feeling the pull of curiosity ignite in her belly. “I imagine a bear might be warmer, given it’s adapted to being in the wilderness full time.” 

“Perhaps so,” Snape agreed, and then, after a beat of hesitation, he offered: “Would you be interested in testing this hypothesis?” 

She sat up straight with surprise. “I certainly hope you have something of the sort in your rucksack, because we are _not_ going hunting at this hour.” 

He chuckled, but it seemed to be a painful reaction. “Granger, you know I’m a vegetarian. I’ve done enough killing in my pathetic life for hunting to seem a dreadful sport. No,” he continued, “we do not even need my rucksack. Provided you agree to swear to secrecy.” 

Severus Snape, divulging a secret with her while sharing a bed in the darkness of the Mongolian mountains? She couldn’t imagine a more delectable thing. 

“I solemnly swear,” she returned, and then with her healer’s caveat she added, “provided it doesn’t involve the endangerment or harm of another person.” 

This made him pause. “Is that a joke, or are you serious?”

“It’s serious.” Hermione’s hair prickled as her mind began to spiral. Her panic began to rise as she remembered, _he was a Death Eater_ , and despite her reasonable mind assuring her that there must be some explanation, she began to fill with anxiety and dread. 

“This secret does have to do with the endangerment or harm of another person,” Severus reflected carefully, “but the person in question was myself, and this took place before you were born.” 

“Oh.” She paused, and she felt silly for her moment of unreasonableness. Of course he wouldn’t ask her to hold some truly unethical secret. The man might have different scruples than some might approve of, but Hermione realized that those that disapproved of his methods were more likely to be the complacently rich and powerful. He was not, she’d seen proven time and time again, a man who was an enemy of the vulnerable. “Then I think it should be alright.” 

“Right.” He breathed slowly and intentionally through his nose, almost as if he’d been expecting some kind of rejection. “Well, I know that you know something of animagi, at least in the abstract.” 

This made Hermione’s heart start beating fiercely. Was he telling her… 

“So you’re a bear animagi,” Hermione identified, putting things together with a delighted clap of her hands. 

“Indeed.” 

A few more pieces clicked into place in her mind. “Is it something to do with the incident you had with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin at Hogwarts?” 

The darkness felt more heavy as he didn’t respond out loud, but nodded with a firm downwards snap of his chin. 

“Oh, that makes sense,” Hermione muttered, and she laid one soft hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry you went through that, by the way.” 

He snorted, but did not shrug her hand off. “My efforts were ultimately too little, too late,” he admitted, “but the idea was to be an animal powerful enough to defeat a werewolf.” Then he fell to silence. 

It took several moments for her to summon the courage, but she finally managed to squeak out, “Are you… registered?” 

“Yes, actually,” Snape replied, and he placed his fingers over hers where she held his shoulder. “For all the good that did me. The whole effort was rather pointless, in retrospect.” 

“So, I’m not,” Hermione admitted, a wry smile coming to her face. 

The apparent non-sequitur made Snape turn over to look directly at her. 

“What did you say?” he asked, furrowing his brow. 

“I’m not registered,” Hermione confessed, and she grinned at his impressed reaction. 

“Little Miss Rule-Follower is an illegal animagus,” Snape murmured, nodding and sighing. “Well then. That was unexpected. If I’m in for a penny, though… what form do you take?” 

“It’ll be better to show you,” Hermione stated, and she removed herself from bed. She grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her, then removed her clothing while beneath it - not that Snape could see much in the dark, of course, but she had that ingrained desire to be modest. Despite the compromising situation. 

It took her a few moments to calm her mind enough to focus, but after a quick mindfulness exercise, she was able to transform. 

Soon, where she stood, there was a small brown bear, standing on its hind legs and sniffing prettily at the cold air. “Oh, there we go,” she breathed with relief, and she seated herself on the edge of the bed with a satisfied grumble. “I’ve been wanting to do this since we got out of the airport.” 

“Incredible,” Snape stated. He was sitting straight up in bed at this moment, and he stared at her in the darkness, which was only illuminated by the little red light on the radiant heater. He shook his head, and his hair waved back and forth across his face like the branches on a willow tree. 

“The boys and I did this during our seventh year, when we were traveling in the Forest of Dean,” Hermione explained, and chuckled in a deep bear voice. “We had nothing else to do, I guess, and we needed decent disguises. Ones that would not look dreadfully out of place in a forest. Harry was a stag, Ron was, predictably, a weasel.”

“A good idea, too,” agreed Snape, gazing at her with a steady, unreadable expression that she had learned to interpret as either pride or admiration. It was rather intense; usually she saw him look at volatile potions ingredients like this. 

She decided to change the subject.“So, I showed you mine,” Hermione said, kicking her discarded clothing towards the heater. “Show me yours.” 

“How juvenile,” Snape groaned, but he did take off his clothing under the blankets of the bed. Then he shook and trembled, and then suddenly where a man once had been, there was a long black bear. 

“That does feel better,” he acknowledged as he stretched out, and Hermione couldn’t help but appreciate the size of his paws, the well-muscled girth of his abdomen, and the luxurious silky coat. 

Hermione felt her animal instinct to sniff him kick in, and she leaned forward, putting her two front paws on the edge of the bed. 

“So, neither of us needs blankets now, probably,” Hermione observed, trying to keep her impulses in check. “So I’ll go back to the floor, I suppose.” 

This resulted in a low, deep growl from Snape. 

“If you _must_ ,” he said with obvious displeasure. “But I thought that rather defeated the purpose of this experiment.” 

“Oh.” She felt a honey-gold trickle of happiness in her heart. “Well, for science, I suppose, we must follow through.” 

“Indeed.” This seemed to satisfy him, and so she gently seated herself back in the bed, though it was a tighter squeeze than before given their increased sizes. 

“How is your back?” she asked as she settled in next to him. 

“The pain is endurable,” he admitted, and added in a speculative tone, “perhaps because my joints are not all mucked about with, in this form.” 

“That’s an idea,” she returned. She permitted herself a flutter of excitement, too, as he draped his long black bear-leg over her midsection, where he settled a possessive paw. 

“Yes,” she heard him whisper, “that’s better.” 

And while they drifted off to sleep like this, she could not help but thrill with delight and excitement as he fell almost instantly asleep, clutching her close to him with a tenderness she never could have expected from such a man. 

Needless to say, though: Monkhbat had a terrible fright when he unceremoniously barged into the couple’s _ger_ first thing in the morning. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



End file.
